


What Words Have Been Spoken

by End



Series: Azul Waters [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: "Fake it 'til you make it" mentality, Abandonment Issues, Abstract Concepts, Attachment Issues, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Major Character Injury, Philosophy (sort of), me projecting on my favorite boy, sorry lance i love you, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/End/pseuds/End
Summary: The words spill from his mouth like honey, smooth and easy, too much so. They seem too light on his tongue, weighted words floating from smiling lips instead of falling.It's easy to forget what those words mean when he says them, throws them aside and around with an ease that seems almost impossible. Easy to lose their meaning in a mess of jokes and laughter, to brush them aside with fond smiles and a ingrained indifference.And yet.





	What Words Have Been Spoken

**Author's Note:**

> Yo I'm projecting again, have fun with that

The words slip from his mouth unbidden, an easy going farewell of words that should never have been said lightly. 

 

And yet-

 

How well practiced they seem, his mouth curling around the words like they mean  _ nothing _ . The smile that curves his lips is too casual, too  _ normal. _ It’s disturbing to watch, how such weighted words can become as light as a feather in an instant. 

 

It shouldn't be normal to use these words as a farewell.

 

-

 

When he was a child, he had cherished those words- used them sparsely, only to family. They were treasures, not to be thrown around. 

 

With time, he learns the weight of the words - The complete weight. With this knowledge, he learns something else. The words carry  _ too _ much weight. 

 

He knows that they are a weakness, then. 

 

And he will not be weak. 

 

There is too much on the line- too much to  _ lose _ . 

 

-

 

Perhaps it is the way he says it, with such a casual grace. In the beginning, no one is concerned.

 

It takes being thrust into space with six other people and four mice for anyone to even realize that something may be amiss.

 

-

 

It starts, rather unsurprisingly, with the mice. 

 

When he says it, in that same casual yet tender tone he always uses, it stops them in their tracks.

 

_ Why do you say it like that? _ They seem to ask, with tilted heads and soft squeaks.

 

But he only laughs, sends them off again with those words on his lips, curled in mirth. 

 

Again and again, it happens, the same question weighing on their miniscule shoulders. They never do get their answer. 

 

-

 

Next, of course, are Allura and Coran. 

 

They are separate occurrences, obviously. 

 

Allura, concern aroused by the mice, almost doesn't catch it after they mention it to her. 

 

It’s always been in the way he says it, like it doesn’t particularly matter. Like they should be used like that, like being used as a farewell is proper. 

 

When she does catch it,  she almost finds it easy to brush it off- he is a notorious flirt, after all. 

 

But something- perhaps it's the mice, protesting in the back of her mind- is off about the way he says it. 

 

She doesn't  _ understand _ , when she remembers the words for their true meaning, how he can cast them aside so easily. 

 

He never answers her, either. 

 

Coran has, perhaps, known since the beginning. He likely understands more than anyone else why he says it the way he does, why he can use them so easily, without qualms. 

 

So when it comes to the farewell, he returns the words with the same casual air, and pretends not to notice the widening of his smile or the shine of his eyes. 

 

This very understanding secures the secret. 

 

-

 

Surprisingly enough, it is Keith who next seems to realize. 

 

When the word fall from that silver tongue, languid smile in place, a causal wave from a doorway as he walks away- anger seems to take root before anything else can. 

 

_ How dare you use those words like that!  _ he wants to scream, wants so desperately to point an angry finger at his back, to grab him by the shoulders and drag him back, demand an explanation. 

 

He has only know those words to be lies. He has received them as prizes, and as points of manipulation. 

 

But he has never hated those words, no matter how badly he has tried. 

 

They carry too much weight,  and he has never been able to shed them of it- not like that. 

 

_ How do you do it?  _ He wants to ask, and it is a reckless sort of desperation that uproots earlier anger.  _ Teach me!  _

 

Because he does not know what it means to shed those words of their meaning the way Lance has. He does not know what it means to be so casual with the words, to hate them with such a passion that they can fall away like honey and matter not. 

 

He never gets the answer from his lips, either. 

 

-

 

Hunk has probably always known, but he has never  _ understood _ . 

 

He has always responded in kind, of course, but he has never been able to comprehend how his best friend can throw them around like they mean  _ nothing.  _

 

Too easy comes his laughter, the curve of his smile too wide. 

 

He is missing a piece of the picture- one that Lance will likely never let go of. 

 

So he simply lets it happen, tries to ignore the way it eats away at his chest. 

 

The words have always been abstract. Their weight should be more than what he knows Lance can handle, and yet-

 

With an easy grin and a wave of his hand, they become a soft goodbye. 

 

Perhaps it is best if he  _ never _ learns why he says it the way he does. 

 

-

 

What no one seems to understand is that the words are not meaningless to him. He does not hate them. 

 

He still carries them close to his heart, still understands what the words mean, why they are what they are. 

 

But for all he has been through, he knows that he cannot let those words be anything more than that. 

 

So he throws them out with ease, never faltering when someone questions, only adding to the affections and pretending that they really don't mean anything. 

 

-

 

Pidge almost doesn't realize. Not until it’s a shout from across a hallway, door shutting behind him. 

 

And then she sees. 

 

She does not understand, not entirely, but she can see that he does not hate them. She gets that they are important to him. 

 

But she does not understand why he can say them so easily, how he can shed them of their weight so easily but still hold them close. 

 

Perhaps she should understand more. 

 

But she does not, and her explanation never comes. 

 

-

 

Shiro understands why he does it more than any of the other paladins. 

 

They are in a war, after all. They never know when the last moment will be. 

 

So he gets why Lance says those words so frequently. 

 

But he does not understand  _ how _ . 

 

How can the words sound so light on his tongue? Where does the weight go?  How can he make it so easy to forget? 

 

He wishes for that bravery, that kind which drives one to fight no matter what they lose. He knows that refusing to acknowledge the potential losses, it hold people back, but he can't bring himself to change. 

 

He can’t say it, even though he wants to. No matter how many people he’s lost, he still can't bring himself to say it. 

 

He never wants to have to say good bye. 

 

-

 

There have been times when Lance questions how heavy these words can be. 

 

Why do they mean so much? Why do they take so much from him? 

 

Weren't they supposed to be blessings? 

 

-

 

He doesn’t regret much- his mother often told him that to live a life full of regret is to not live at all- but he knows one thing that he will never be able to let go of. 

 

He had lost many people in his life. His little sister, his father, his cousins. Too many friends have left him, stranded and alone on an empty sidewalk, face stained with dirt, palms torn in the crossed pattern of a chain link fence. He has lost too much, learned that being childish never gets him anywhere when he actually wants things. 

 

But he doesn't care about the manner in which he loses people- no, it’s the words he had spoken to them last. 

 

Every time he’s lost someone, he’d never been able to say it. Back then, when he was young and naïve, he believed in that ‘power of love’ crap they fed him on TV, in his books and stories. He believed that even if the words weren't spoken, his message would still get across.

 

So back then, when people seemed to leave him left and right, he had still held the words close to his heart, spoke them softly, like some sort of prayer. 

 

It never worked.

 

-

 

 

He would go, every night, to his sister’s bedside, kiss the back of her hand and mouth them against her palm. He loved how she would laugh at that, when she would pull away and push his head back, and they would talk for hours until his mom would tell him to go to sleep. 

 

He regrets how his last moments with her were spent, angry tears running down his face as he shouted, storming out of the room. He couldn’t say it, that night- not with his childish anger, youthful pride.

 

_ “I hate you!” _

 

She died in her sleep that night, cheeks stained with tears.

 

Never again did he cry as much as he did that day.

 

-

 

His friends were all he had after his sister’s death. They were his anchor, his grip on reality.

 

They leave him too, cruel smiles on their faces, eyes alight with an emotion he can’t explain.

 

And yet.

 

He cannot bring himself to hate them. He cannot hate fate, cannot turn his back on faith. It simply isn’t in his nature.

 

But still, he cannot bring the words to his lips then, either. No matter how much he wants to say it, they do not come. Instead, he is spiteful, angry. 

 

_ “I don’t care. You can go.” _

 

He does not hate them, but he is still rightfully angry.  He still has the right to defend himself from their cruelty. He has known for years, and he has lessened their blows, but he has still been hurt. He has learned from them, and he is thankful for that, but he does not express this. He cannot say the words to them,  because no matter how much he would love to, he has been hurt too many times. The words do not come. 

 

But he cannot hate the words then, either.

 

-

 

It takes him a year to develop his oh-so-famous silver tongue. 

 

It happens after his father disappears- one day into the night, all traces of his existence gone. 

 

That night came and went like a hurricane, foretold by the stormy winds of his now broken friendships. 

 

A still seething Lance had snapped, that night, anger boiling over the edge and seeping out of him, leaving him teary eyed and angry. 

 

_ “I wish you didn’t exist!” _

 

In the end, his mother had to pull him away, and Lance never got to speak those blessed words to his father ever again. 

 

Regret plagues him to this day. 

 

-

 

The words never truly lose their meaning. They are still heavy, too much so. Maybe he should hate them. 

 

He doesn't, though. 

 

He learns to bear the weight, to make them look weightless. To take away their weight when anyone says it in kind and bear it with an easy smile. 

 

He succeeds. 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

He takes a blow meant for the rest of the team.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, blood spilling from his lips. Warnings flash around on the screens, and Blue cries in anguish. 

 

His comms are alive with shouting, telling him to hang in there for a few more seconds, screams of his name. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. He hears a sob, and distantly, he realizes that he's crying. 

 

_ “I love you.” _

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_ “What does it mean, to love?” _

 

_ “Well, It’s when you care for someone very much. When you would do anything to see them smile,and want more than anything to stay by their side. When losing them hurts like nothing else, and nothing can replace it.” _

 

_ - _

 

“-nce!  -ake up, plea- Please!”

 

_ - _

 

_ “How does it feel to be in love?” _

 

_ “ There’s no real way to explain it- it’s just a feeling. You don't have to be in love to love.” _

 

_ - _

 

“-t a pod ready-! -e's severely injured!”

 

_ - _

_ “Do you always know when you're in love?” _

 

_ “No. Sometimes it takes you by surprise, sneaks up on you when you least expect it and drags you under the waves. Sometimes it takes you by the hand and never lets go. Sometimes, you only realize it when you're on your deathbed. And sometimes, if you're lucky, you have someone at your side to feel the same.” _

 

_ - _

 

“-ome on, Lanc-. Hang in -ere.”

 

-

 

_ “Can you lose the ability to love?” _

 

_ “No!  Even if you don't love someone romantically, you still have friends and family. People you care about more than anyone. You can never lose that. Nothing can ever take it away.” _

 

-

 

“Pleas-e oka- Lance. -e need you.”

 

-

 

_ “...Promise?” _

 

_ “I promise.” _

 

_ - _

 

He wakes up with a sputtering gasp, reaching out for-

 

“Lance!” And then he’s swept up into a tight embrace, pressed firmly against a broad but soft chest.

 

He blinks back into reality, the last threads of a distant dream slipping out of his hands. “Uh, Hunk? I, uh…”

 

“Oh, sorry!” Hunk pulls back, and Lance looks around.

 

There’s a pile of mismatched blankets against the side of his pod, hastily thrown aside. A stack of dirty plates balances haphazardly on the floor by the control panel, next to a bucket of used silverware. 

 

He looks up. Hunk has bags under his eyes, shirt stained on odd places with sweat and drool. His hair is a mess, headband askew, nails bitten low. Beside him, Pidge lies across the steps, half-conscious and staring blearily up at him. Her hair is pulled back in a terrible excuse for a ponytail, skin sickly pale and oily. A computer is nearby, half closed and screen dead.

 

Off to the side, Shiro is hunched over himself, arm sprawled across the floor and away from the rest of him. His breathing is heavy, but he seems to force himself to roll over and face Lance. His eyes are dull and lifeless, face pale and drawn. The relief on his face when he meets Lance’s eyes is almost tangible, color returning to his face in an instant.

 

The door opens just as he tries to stand, and a dishevelled but relatively clean Keith walks in and catches him as he stumbles. He looks up, the barest traces of a smirk on his face as he catches Lance’s eyes.

 

From the corner of his eye, he can see that Allura is asleep, Coran watching over her, curled over his knees in a chair by her side. Relief washes over him.

 

Silence.

 

“You’re all okay,” Breathes Lance, smiling. “Thank goodness.”

 

And then the room comes to life.

 

-

 

_ “...I don’t understand it.” _

 

_ “What?” _

 

_ “Love. How does it work? What is it like? Why?” _

 

_ “There’s no logic behind it, Lance...” _

 

_ “Is it supposed to hurt so much?” _

 

_ “...Sometimes, it hurts too much. But don’t hate love, Lance. It may be what saves you, in the end.” _

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I haven't had my laptop in a while- i had to work up my grades, and i swear to all things holy Spanish will be the death of me. who makes a high schooler take an entirely different language at 8 in the morning, anyway? and my teacher's an ass, too. He's always telling us that we're "practically Spanish speakers by now" but it's like bitch,,, most of us can barely put together a simple sentence,,,,what the fuck,,,stop trying to make me write essays,,,,,
> 
> But anyway that's why I haven't posted shit in a while, but I have a whole bunch of stuff in my drafts so look forward to that. I might actually have a multi chapter soon- the draft has over 15,000 words so far so I'll try to get the first chapter out soon. ((Hope yall like latte bc it's my shit like,,,, so much potential??? You can do so much with a character when they have like,,, 3 seconds of development. SO MUCH))


End file.
